Franklin, PA to Pontiac, IL

I know it's been a long time since I've updated, and much has happened since Warren. It seems like a lifetime ago that we were in Warren, sleeping on the floor in the gym of a YMCA. Since then, we've passed through all Ohio, where we contributed to two build days, and even biked across the whole of Indiana. The day after we were in Warren, we arrived in Franklin, another smallish town near the border of PA. There, we stayed in a large Lutheran church with a few fixtures that we all really appreciated: a big-screen TV, cable, and a DVD player. In addition, our shower site was less than a three minute walk away, and town was a comparable distance away in the other direction. It's strange how much the nearness of these amenities affected our moods. Often, the ability to shower just by walking across the house is taken for granted; our ability to drive to any of our favorite haunts never occurs to us. In most of our civilized culture, we are not bound by anything but our own ability or budget. But sometimes, rolling into these smaller towns can feel constricting, if we need to take the van to showers, or ride thirty minutes or more to get to a bike shop. When a host location is situated in the middle of town, or directly next to a shower facility, it simply makes you feel a little more human.

From Franklin, we went on into Ohio to stay in Youngstown. Biking into Youngstown was a nearly surreal experience. We were told that there was a university there (Youngstown State University), but coming into the city from the outskirts was like biking through a ghost town. More and more as we progress, we are seeing the effects of small-town poverty on people and places. We aren't able to whip past the derelict parts of town in favor of parking in a nice, well-lit downtown area; we are often forced to experience the cracked and deteriorating roads that local budgets cannot afford to fix; we must come face-to-face with the often defeated-looking residents, who walk with their eyes trained upon the ground, towards some unknown location. As we went into Youngstown, however, we began to see the effect of the university on the city as storefronts spruced up and the profile of the host location loomed on the horizon. In Youngstown, we stayed in an older, three-story church that imitated many of the imposing stone chapels one might see in France or Spain. Though it no doubt served many of the same functions as any other far more modest church we'd stayed in up until this point, I couldn't help but marvel at its architectural grandeur. In some unassuming place in Ohio, stands this beautiful monument to the Judeo-Christian God. In a town where I'd seen hardly anybody roaming the streets, I found one of the most impressive structures bearing witness to an empty city.

We spent two days in Youngstown, and on the second day we built. We all rode out to the build location in our van in order to put the finishing touches on a house. Since our build site in Binghamton had fallen through, we were all very excited for an opportunity to get back to the latter half of our cause. Since Providence, it seemed as though we were less Bike & Build, and more Bike & Bike. Taking up a hammer and climbing a ladder helped return us to the reason many of us came on this trip in the first place: to help those affected by the housing crisis, and to give something back to those who need help the most. We were separated into groups, and we all were given separate finishing jobs. Some of us were working with trim inside, some were hanging doors, some were painting and finessing the last pieces of the home. My group worked outside on the soffit running up the peak of the roof, and had to replace many of the crooked pieces put in place by another less skilled but no less well-intentioned group of volunteers. At the end of the day, we'd finished a majority of our jobs and save for the unlevel ground in the front yard, the house was nearly completed. After a fulfilling work day, we all returned to the church in Youngstown and balled up on the floor in one of two climate-controlled rooms and napped, watched movies, or played card games. Though perhaps less taxing than a day of biking, a build day still takes a good deal out of us, and before long we all fell asleep in anticipation of another day of riding.

Out of Youngstown, we went to Akron, one of a few decently large towns on our route. After riding for a little while at a moderate pace, the lead group--Anthony, Hassan and I--decided that on this forty-mile day, we could maybe average near 19mph and arrive at the host before 10:00. Since we'd spent the first bit of our ride at a slower pace, we really had to push ourselves if we wanted to average out to 19mph. Despite our best efforts, however, the rolling terrain slowed us down just enough, and our final average was closer to 17mph--that being said, we showed up on the church's front porch at 10:05. With an absurd amount of time on our hands, we went exploring about town looking for a diner of some sort to have a hot breakfast. Without much to guide us but serendipity and an iPhone, we decided to go to the closest location: an establishment called Fred's Diner. A small, nondescript white building, we nearly biked right past the place in our search for it. When we did stop, we were confronted by barred windows and a vaguely unwelcoming exterior; if we were driving, we agreed, we never would have stopped here. On the inside, however, we were met with a warm atmosphere of locals, great food, and a number of inquisitive patrons. As we sat there, we explained our cause to the server, chatted with the guests, and went into detail about the Bike & Build cause. Much to our surprise, the waitress came back and picked up all of our checks, explaining that Fred, the owner, wanted to show his support for us by comping our meal.

If there is something to be said for the power of the Bike & Build vision to move the heart and inspire the spirit, then there is an equal amount to be said for the people in whom this cause resonates. As riders, we all had to experience the anxiety and pressure of asking potential donors for money prior to the trip. I always would worry about the impropriety of asking for a donation, about perhaps being inconsiderate or coming across as impolite and self-righteous; and yet, I am time and again amazed by the generosity of the residents in the small towns. It would have been one thing if Fred merely gave the three of us a free meal, but when the entire group followed suit and went to Fred's for lunch, he found it in himself to give our entire group lunch for nothing at all. It made Akron a true high point in the trip--not because of the free food, but because of the very powerful affirmation that there are real, true, good people in the world who believe in our cause, and in a group of thirty twenty-somethings with a common goal.

From Akron, we went to Gambier, then to Columbus, from Columbus to Dayton, Dayton to Hartford, IN, then West Lafayette and on into Gilman, IL. Each of these places welcomed us with open arms, gave us a place to sleep and a fantastic meal, and graciously prepared us for another day of riding. There are a number of highlights from this leg of the trip--the overnight in the confusingly-named XENOS fellowship center (building X!) in Columbus; the shockingly fantastic Eddy's Bike Shop in Akron, and our near-fetishistic response to its tri-bikes; Dayton's Bonnett's Book Store that was wallpapered in literature and tchotchkies; fireworks over Dayton on the 3rd; our first century ride into Hartford. But I think one of the most affecting experiences for me was our overnight in Gambier, OH. Typically, we stay on the floors in churches, or on cold gym floors--and we are all too content to do so--but in Gambier, Kenyon college offered us the chance to stay in their residence halls and to have breakfast in their dining hall.

Staying in individual rooms was, in some regards, a welcome chance to have some alone time on a trip where otherwise we see one another nearly every hour of every day. Not since we all left the comfort of our respective homes have we had the chance to close a door and demarcate a space to be distinctly our own. With this came welcome freedoms--we each had the ability to turn out a light when we please; a bed and a pillow to be enjoyed; a plug for our phones and electronics; the ability to walk around and sleep in the nude (if, you know, you're into that). But it also felt strange and unusual to be separated from the group. As I sat alone in my temporary private space, I felt unexpectedly isolated from these people I'd come to know and love so well. I felt somewhat raw and exposed, naked without being flanked on both sides by warm breathing bodies, adrift without the mooring of a slumbering congregation. And I began to think, as well, about my recent graduation from college, and about the uncertain direction my life will take after Bike & Build. I began to think as well about my past, about my decision to end up at Ithaca, about the little and intermittent research I did prior to applying to colleges, about my complete disregard of colleges in the Midwest--including the quaint arts campus of Kenyon. Though I have no regrets about the time I spent at Ithaca, I can't help but think about the what-ifs and maybes of the past--especially when seeing the quotation uttered by one of Kenyon's prior presidents, which went something along the lines of: "At Kenyon, we wrote poetry much in the way at Ohio State they played football." The poet inside of me balked, indignant that I hadn't ever even considered Kenyon as a place to hone my compositional skills.

Walking barefoot on the Middle Path through Kenyon's campus, however, I came to the realization that I am now and always have been exactly where I need to be. For the past four years, that was working and rowing and studying at Ithaca College; before that, it was marching and being a drum major for Richland High School; and even further back, it was playing middle school football at Richland Middle, a slightly awkward and self-conscious offensive lineman with the size but not the aggression to be an effective right tackle. At the moment, where I need to be is here: in Pontiac, Illinois, en route to Seattle, Washington raising money and awareness for affordable housing and meeting kind and giving souls from one coast to the next. My past is exactly as it should have been because it led to this present moment. This present moment is exactly what it should be because it was directed by my past. And my future, which hinges upon this and every moment to come, will be exactly as it should be.

It couldn't ever be anything else.